Last Words: The 24th Hunger Games
by Wingbeats on the Wind
Summary: The 24th Hunger Games from 12 points of view. Watch as the tributes fight, love, and die in a brutal race to the finish. Rated T for violence.
1. Introducing the Introduction

**Hi, guys. If you're wondering what happened, Fanfiction deleted my last story because it "violated" some of the stuff for publishing a story. It wasn't allowed because it "advertised author and reader interaction". Because NO ONE ELSE at ALL does that. **

**Anyways, I was stupid and I didn't have my story backed up. As such, I have to rewrite it. I decided not to think of it as a bad thing. I have a chance to rewrite some of my chapters. Now, I did manage to get the chapters for reapings 3-7 back. I wish that I had 1 and 2, though, because I really liked those chapters. Anyways, the chapters for those will be mostly the same, although I will edit some of the ones I don't like as much. I'm going to try to post at least twice or three times a week until I've caught up to where I was last. Some of the chapters will look similar to the ones I had before. I still remember most of it and would like to make it as similar as I can to the last one. Anyways, be patient and I'll be as fast as I can in getting them up. **

**For any new readers here, this used to be a SYOT but is no longer. I try to update every friday or sooner, but I can't always. You can earn sponser points through various activities which I will explain later on. I write from the point of view of one tribute from each District. **

**Those of you who submitted tributes, I'll still use them, if you don't mind. Now, you should meet my head Gamemaker.**

Apollo Arello, Head Gamemaker

My room is silent except for the quiet beeping of the monitors and speakers on the walls. I lean back in my chair and put my polished shoes among enormous stacks of paper on my desk. Paperwork that I should be doing, stacked up all the way from several weeks ago. My hand cramped up a while back. There's just too much of it. Orders, permission forms, requisition forms, employment forms, checks, endless piles of rubbish and paperwork.

The dark wood of my desk has been worn away from the heels of my shoes, but I'm not going to get it polished. President Snow has always been doubtful about how much I've actually gotten done, and he wouldn't be very happy about how much time I've been wasting.

As if in answer to my thoughts, a knock resonates through the room. I hastily put my feet down and grab a pen, then I smooth my hair and call, "Who is it?"

A boy with glowing greenish hair steps through the door before replying. "President Snow wants to know how the purchase forms are coming. He needs them by 3." He looks critically at the piles of paperwork on my desk. Evidentally, Snow's not the only one who knows how unproductive I am.

The boy is looking at me impatiently. He must have said something.

"Sorry, what?"

"Weren't you listening, _sir_?"

I fake a laugh. "No, I was too distracted by your glowing hair. It's ridiculous. I hope you can put it back to normal."

He flushes, his face clashing horribly with his hair. "It's the latest fashion! Everyone has it. You'd know about it if you ever stepped out of this building."

I stick my finger at him. "Listen, little runt. I was here way before you were, and I'll probably last longer, what with all of the chemicals you young people use these days. Also, I outrank you. I wouldn't suggest being rude. You're talking to the Head Gamemaker."

My fake bravado obviously has no effect on the child. He smirks insolently. "You're not going to be the head Gamemaker much longer if you don't finish all that paperwork."

I grab him by the back of his shirt and push him out the door. "You can tell Snow that I'll have it done by 3. Now leave me alone!"

With him and his glowing hair out of the room, it suddenly feels dim. I snap my fingers and the lamp becomes one setting brighter. I sigh and sit back in the chair again. Pulling out my favorite pen, I shuffle through the piles of paper until I find the ones I need. With a sigh, I put my pen to paper. Three weeks until the Games. I have to get to work.

**That's my Head Gamemaker, Apollo Arello. He's very fun to write. Anyways, I'll be using him to explain various facts of the game, like the Arena and mutts. Now, I'm going to do sponsor points next week. The people who submitted tributes for my last SYOT still have their points. For you guys now, you can earn sponsor points the following ways. **

**You get 20 points for giving a good review with constructive criticism and feedback. You won't get any points for a review without anything useful, like a review that says "Nice chapter :D". I want actual feedback.**

**You get 30 points for catching a typo, grammatical error, misspelling, mistake, etc. **

**Now, I think that's just about all you can do to earn sponsor points. I'll post a list of what you can buy with it next chapter. Things are going to be pretty hard to get, maybe 50 points for a loaf of bread at the start, not to mention the prices at the end. I also might keep you from making a purchase, because I have a good deal of the plot figured out.**

**That's about all for today. I'll see if I can get the next chapter up by tomorrow. **

**~Wingbeats**


	2. The Arena

"Sir? _Sir?" _Startled, I jerk upright in my chair, then promptly hit my nose on something hard. A groan of pain comes from the other person, who is rubbing his forehead a few feet away.

The stars slowly clear from my eyes as I rub my stinging nose. "What is it?"

The other man gets up, shaking his shaggy hair out of his enormous eyes. Gimbol, the Arena designer. He came up with all the ideas for everything, the arena, the mutts, the twists. He blinks a few times, then hurridly picks up his scattered papers. Standing at attention by my side, he says, "Mister Arello, sir, I saw you sleeping and I knew that you had some forms to finish up. I didn't think you'd want to, er, sleep through your deadline."

I rub my forehead. "You're right, thanks, Gimbol." He nods, and I lean back over the desk. He remains there. "Is there something else you need?"

"Sir, we have the holographic Arena fully running. We need you to check it over to make sure it's all running according to plan."

I focus. I've been wanting to see the new holographic arena since it was created. It's new technology. In the past, the Gamemakers always had to go see the arena in person, but someone created a new program that allowed us to see the arena in an interactive hologram. I try not to show it, but I've always wanted to play with one of them.

Gimbol puts a rectangular box on my desk and clears away the papers. He grabs each corner and pulls it out, forming a large square, and presses the center. I squint as a vivid, glowing, colorful hologram bursts out and begins revolving slowly. My eyes slowly adjust to the light, and I lean back to get the full image. It's 3D, in a perfect sphere. By the side, meters and tables scroll out various data.

Gimbol walks around it. "Mister Arello, sir, I don't think you've seen these before. Let me show you. He sticks a hand in and pinches his fingers together. The map begins zooming out. He pulls his hand out, and it stops moving. "So, this is the entire arena. Here-" he points to a line about halfway down the sphere- "is the ground layer. It's covered in trees and thick vegetation. Mutts will be roving around."

I point to several spots of moving bright red. "What are these?"

Gimbol smiles. "Those are the people currently in the Arena. Workers and such. They move in real time. Look." He sticks his hand in again and spreads his fingers. The map begins zooming in, until the dots have defined themselves in to humanoid shapes. He zooms it in even further. "Look at the quality of the hologram." he presses a person's reddish shape and the person's information shows up next to the tables. The hologram person has features on it's face and is obviously a woman. The information gives a picture of the person, and biological information. Date of birth, name, et cetera.

Gimbol clears his throat. "Now, this works because of the identification chips that all of the Capitol workers get upon entrance to the workforce. The trackers that we put inside of each tribute are significantly more complex. We have a man down there who is testing the trackers." Gimbol pulls out a wireless keyboard and types a few letters. The hologram zooms out automatically and one of the red dots on the skreen starts pulsing. It zooms in a bit and I see a label in small font above it. Test3. To the side of the hologram, pictures and complex stats show. It has the name and picture, but it also has heart rate, hydration levels, hunger levels, exhaution levels, and countless other lines of data that I don't bother to read. There is also a holographic figure that indicates any injuries or motion.

"Now, when we finish the wiring and setup for the cameras, we'll have another test run, and here-" Gimbol points above the data, where there is a blank black screen- "there will be feeds from all of the cameras with that tribute on screen. You can touch each screen to enlarge it."

I laugh. "Gimbol, this is brilliant. Can I touch it?" Gimbol smiles.

"Of course."

Gingerly, I reach my hand in and pinch it. The arena zooms out again until I can see the entire thing. I try not to grin. Gimbol smiles behind me. I cough, embarassed. It's just really amazing, this technology.

Right, back to the map. The entire arena is a jungle. People called them rainforests before the Dark Days. It's full of nasty plants that bite and poison. The trees reach hundreds of feet in to the sky. In the very center of the Arena, the cornucopia sits on a hill. Down below the jungle about 30 feet, there's a layer of tunnels. They connect to the surface all over the place, with tunnels hidden among the roots of trees and some in the middle of paths, waiting for someone to fall in.

In a few places in the first layer of the tunnel maze, it leads down to the second layer. It's almost the same as the first. Both layers have some rivers running through them, along with moss and tubers and thick tangles of roots.

However, below that, there is just an empty space. I look back up at Gimbol. "Isn't there supposed to be a third and fourth layer?"

He starts nervously. "Erm, we're obviously significantly behind schedule. I'm not sure if we have time for the fourth layer, perhaps not even the third." I sigh.

"We're all overworked. So, let's scrap the fourth layer and move all the magma chambers to the third. Okay?" An expression of relief shows on his face and he quickly agrees. I zoom out again. The forest and vegetation is still being grown, and the tunnels are still being created. We are behind schedule, but if I stay here tonight, I might be able to finish all of the paperwork. It'd be nice to get the paper off my desk. Then, we could work a few hours overtime and start catching up.

I look at Gimbol. "How about the Mutts?" His forehead creases in concern.

"Well, we're having a few problems. We can't authorize new formulas of hormones unless you sign the forms, which you still haven't. They're in here somewhere." He gestures at the mess of papers. "Also, you're scheduled to tour the mutts tomorrow at noon."

I hold up a hand. "Alright. I can get this paperwork finished by tonight. Let me be for now. He nods, picks up the hologram, folds it up, and leaves. I open a drawer and pull out a pen, then press a button on the side of my desk. Immediately, an Avox steps in.

"Coffee. Double strength. Er, please." The Avox nods and leaves. I press the call button and he sticks his head back in. "Actually, you should probably make it a triple."

**Hi all. I'm going to do the Mutts next chapter. I want to completely catch up my fanfiction to where it was when it got deleted this weekend, but no promises. And frozen yogurt is good for you.**

**Also, shoutout to Loubird2. She is a GENIUS. She actually found me the Reaping chapters for 1 and 2, which I really liked and didn't want to lose. Give her kudos if you ever run in to her. She significantly reduced my workload for the weekend because I don't have to rewrite those chapters, which both took a very long time, and I'm not sure I could replicate them with any accuracy. So, she saved me a lot of trouble. Thanks, Loubird. You get some extra sponser points for that. And I'll do the sponsor points next time, maybe.**

**~Wingbeats**


	3. Meet the Mutts

**Hey, guys. I'm sorry I took so long to update. I blame state tests and my own laziness. Anyways, once this chapter is finished, I can just upload all of of the reaping chapters quickly. There are a few edits that I want to do to it, but I should be able to update more quickly.**

**Sadly, I lost most of my old audience when my story got deleted. Ah, well, hopefully I'll regain it over time. Now on to the mutts.**

Finally, I can see my desk again. There's a neat pile of papers in one corner, but it's only an inch or so thick. Now that it's finally clean, any paper that accummulates is quickly dealt with. I'm sure that it'll soon gather up again, though. If I can just get through this week, I can quit most of the paperwork. Once I dealt with it, it actually wasn't so bad. I'm not going to admit it and prove Gimbol right, though. He really doesn't need another boost to his ego.

Checking my watch, I straighten my tie and quickly leave. I have to go down and meet Gimbol at the Mutts Center. Apparently we've had a few problems, but Gimbol will explain those when I get there. I've been avoiding the mutts as long as I could, but now I have to face it. We only have a few weeks until the games, and we need at least a week to safely integrate the mutts in to the Arena.

Downstairs, I run in to Gimbol, who is obviously very frazzled. His hair sticks out in many directions and his tie is crumpled and crooked. He gives me a salute and I sigh.

"Gimbol," I ask, "Wouldn't it have been easier to just use the holographs again? I'm busy." He gives me a look.

"With all due respect, sir, last I checked you were flirting with that one girl from Maitnence. Also, the arena hologram was a test and funded by the President. We don't have the kind of time or money to make another one for the mutts."

I sigh. "Whatever, Gimbol. Just show me the mutts." He nods, and runs his hand over an access scanner in the wall. A door in the wall opens to reveal an elevator and we step in.

"As I'm sure you remember, sir, you haven't been down to the mutts center since it was emptied out. I'm afraid we're a bit behind schedule because you've been neglecting-"

"We're always behind schedule."

"Er, yes, sir. Anyways, we have a few problems. I'll show you. The most important ones are the monkeys."

I yawn. "You told me they're not adapting and they're dying, right?"

He nods. The elevator dings and we step out on to the mutts level. The first thing that hits me is the smell. I hate doing the mutts every year. I'm not really one for animals, and animals that are programmed to kill are even worse. And when they smell...

Gimbol interrupts my thoughts. "The monkeys are over here, sir."

I look sideways in to a glass enclosure. I see flashes of colors weaving around some wooden and rope structures. Then enclosure is big, and about two floors high. On the bottom, some heavily armored caretakers are cleaning the food and water and injecting the monkeys with formulas. The monkeys are multicolored, some in shockingly bright colors and others in more natural tones. Most of them are flopping around and looking miserable, or at least as miserable as a monkey can look.

Gimbol touches the glass. "Yeah, the formulas are wrong, we think. A wrong mix of chemicals for their metabolism."

"I thought they were supposed to be aggressive."

"We're not injecting them with aggression hormones until we integrate them in to the arena. We're also going to add a type of the agression hormones in to all the water in to the arena. It will work on all life forms similar to the monkeys, and some additional life forms that we add in. It shouldn't have much of an effect, if any, on the Tributes. If the Games are going slowly, we can increase the dosage for a bit of spice. If we increase the dosage, it'll have a small effect on the Tributes."

I nod. "Good. Now, how is it going on developing a better growth formula for the monkeys?"

He twists his hands. "Well, nothing we find works. We thought about just stopping dosage altogether, but they just up and die if they don't have some hormones. They aren't really grown enough. It's kind of hard to tell, but they actually aren't completely grown on the inside."

"So, how will it change our plans if we just scrap the monkeys altogether?"

He sighs. "Well, the reality is that we have a lot of mutts, and so it wouldn't do all that much. But... er, well, we've invested a lot of time in these monkeys, and... people don't really want to just give up. Scientists feel we're not to far from figuring it out."

I look at him in some disbelief. "Seriously? That's the reason?"

He glances away quickly at my tone. "Please, sir, don't make us scrap it. We're almost done, really."

I snort. I kind of want to scrap it just out of spite. But Gimbol looks at me, wide eyed, and I sigh.

"You know what? Fine. Keep working with your monkeys. But if it keeps you or anyone from finishing your other stuff, I'll make you get rid of them."

Gimbol doesn't suceed in hiding the relief from his face. "Thank you , sir."

I sigh again. "Whatever. Let's move on, I want to get back."

He nods and quickly leads me on. "Now, our mutts are divided in to a few tiers. The Tier One mutts are on this floor." He points at several different enclosures. "We have the monkeys, you've seen those. On the right we have our insects."

On the right, there are two glass cases. The first one is full of thousands of tiny insects, all species, all colors. Some are as big as my hands. Then I look in the second one.

"Eugh!"

Gimbol chuckles. "I didn't think you were the type to be afraid of bugs, Head Gamemaker."

"Shut up." I straighten my tie. The glass case is full of bugs, too. Except these are much, much larger. Some are as big as me. Hornets, beetles, ants. I can see them in all their huge detail. I'm not afraid of bugs, but when they're this big, they're just ugly.

"I wouldn't want to be the tribute who runs in to those."

Gimbol chuckles again. "Neither would I, sir. Now, come on."

I follow him through the rest of the Tier One level. Giant piranhas, snails, and an oozing greenish thing with nasty spikes that looks like a plant when it stops moving.

On Tier Two, there are wild cats and dogs, along with sharp-beaked birds and other nasty creatures. I turn to Gimbol.

"What divides them between the tiers?"

"Well, it depends on the amount we've had to change them or engineer them. Also, it depends on agression. As for agression... well, you'll see in a moment."

He leads me to an enclosure full of dark-spotted cats. They are making the most noise by far, and prowling around with long claws extended. Suspicious clumps of fur and blood litter the cage, and many of the cats are wounded. Unlike all of the other enclosures, there are no caretakers inside.

Gimbol clears his throat. "You see, all of our animals are kept tame until they are released in to the arena. This allows us to take care of them and give them their vitamins. These cats, however, just started being aggressive a few days ago. Two people were killed before we realized they were aggressive. There were about thirty of them in there before. Now, there are six. We want to try to figure them out, but we'll probably have to kill them soon. We've grown some new embryos that can be released."

I sigh and put my hand agains the glass, quickly jerking it back as one of the cats slams in to the glass, snarling. Gimbol says, "That's also how we help define the tiers. The ones that are going to be aggressive are on the higher levels, and the passive prey animals are on the lower ones. Our passive prey animals are things like rodents and lizards. Normal stuff."

We stand, staring at the snaling cats. Suddenly, a cat leaps on to the back of another and begins tearing at it. Gimbol swallows. "Let's go, shall we?"

I agree as other cats join in the fray. More blood and fur splatter on the floor. We turn back, the yowls of the dying cat ringing in our ears.


	4. He Smells Like Strawberries

**Just so you know, Suzanne Collins mentioned how Reapings would likely be different in Career Districts since so many people wanted to be in the Games. Because of this, instead of the conventional Reaping idea, I've devised a different reaping method for the Careers.**

Aurora Kane, District 1

I look in to the mirror and I see a goddess staring back at me. She blinks her turquoise eyes and purses her perfect lips, tossing her golden hair over her shoulder. But what catches my eye the most is the dress. It must have come from before the dark days, because even in District 1, no one has this sort of thing. I shake it gently, and the black diamonds inlaid in it sparkle erratically. The contrast of the black gemstones against the blindingly white silk make me want to stare forever at it. I don't even know where Mother got it. It was a birthday present. My sixteenth birthday. Today.

And I know that today is the day that I earn glory for our family. We don't have a victor in my family. My father's brother died trying about ten years ago. I'm stronger than him, though. I won't lose.

I lean in closer to the mirror, studying my complexion. I turn my head from side to side. There, on my cheek next to my nose, I can see a faint blemish. It's not much, but I'll have to be beautiful for my day of glory. I grab for the special soap on the rim of the sink. I place a dab on my finger and rub it thoroughly over the spot. I let it sit for a few moments while combing my hair. In about five minutes, I wash it off with steaming water. When I lean toward the mirror again, the spot is gone.

How fine the Capitol medicine is. I'll have to congratulate the scientists there. I'll do it myself, on my victory tour.

As I lean back in the chair, the door slams open. My twin brother, Goby, glides in, looking dashing in his tuxedo. We're twins, but we look nothing alike. He has dark hair and bright blue eyes where my hair is golden blonde. He leans over my shoulder, his breath smelling like fruit. "Your boyfriend is here, Sis. By the way, Mom says to tell you that we have strawberries, only picked yesterday from Eleven."

That does sound tempting. Plus, I have to go find Tarpon. As I try to stand up, Goby catches me by the elbow. "May the best man win." I know what he's talking about. We're both volunteering this year. We know that one of us may get picked, but there's also a chance of us both becoming tributes. I clear these dark thoughts from my mind. Anyway, that's specifically why I told Tarpon not to volunteer this year. I don't want it to come down to just him and me. I take the stairs quickly. As I turn the corner, I'm suddenly grabbed in a warm bear hug. I let out a sound of surprise.

"Tarpon!" My boyfriend looks down at me with a grin. "Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome out victor from District One... Aurora Kane!" He draws out the vowels just like the announcer on T.V. He believes in me too. There's no way I'm not getting picked this year. I'm turning sixteen, and I'm going to win. Next year, Tarpon can try out. But this is my year of fame.

He shakes me gently. "Hey, you know there are strawberries in the kitchen, right?" I lean back and punch him playfully.

"Well, if you and Gobo haven't eaten them all, I'm sure that I can manage a few."

My mom suddenly steps out of the kitchen, her hair rather messy. "Sorry, Aurora. No time. The Reapings are beginning! You look stunning, by the way." She hands me a paper towel with a couple strawberries in it. Then she fixes her hair and calls up the staircase for Gobo. He rushes down the stairs two at a time, his hair sticking up. We are all bundled out of the door by our mother.

"Your father will be there soon. Aurora, eat your strawberries." I comply. They are good. We don't often get fruit that was picked yesterday. As we walk toward the square, I try to feed Tarpon a strawberry. I only really succeed in tripping over my high heels and getting strawberry juice all over his face. He laughs as I try to wipe it up with the same disastrous effects. I just give up and hand him the now-empty paper towel.

We finally reach the square. By then, my heart is racing. I'm one of hundreds of girls, all wanting to go in to the Games. Who's to say that I'll be the one the escort sees first? Sometimes, I almost wish I were in a lower District. I heard that in places like Twelve, almost no one volunteers. They have a slightly different reaping system then ours. When a tribute is reaped in a Career District, they can either accept the reaping or pass it on. If they choose to pass, then people can volunteer. Some years ago, there was actually a method then. But it's really mostly been forgotten by the escorts. They just tend to call on the first person they see. And I'm one of hundreds. There's no way she'll call on me. Come to think of it, most girls who get reaped will want to stay reaped. I feel nervousness start to dull my senses and my heart beats faster.

As if Tarpon can hear my thoughts, he tightens his squeeze. "Don't worry," he whispered. Then we are led in to separate sections. As luck would have it, our sections are next to each other, and I manage to work my way across the crowd until I'm just on the other side of the rope from him. We clasp hands and look at the stage.

A hush falls over the crowd. I suddenly start panicking. Tarpon puts an arm around me over the rope, and I'm clutching it for all I'm worth. It has to be me. It has to be me. It has to be me.

I watch, as if in slow motion, as the escort dips her hand in to the bowl. Her fingers move agonizingly slowly. Unfolding the paper, taking years. My heart is racing, and I can't hear anything. I dip my head a bit, and I think my lips begin to move. Tarpon whispers something in my ear, but I don't hear him. Please, let it be someone who doesn't want to go. I am tense, ready to leap in to the air and wave wildly, shout deafeningly, just to be spotted by the escort. Then, I hear noise from up on the stage, I look up to see the escort's mouth moving, and suddenly I have no words. My mind is blank. Then, Tarpon's shaking me wildly as the escort screams the name in to the microphone.

"Aurora Kane!"

I fall over. I'd wanted to be dignified, to walk sedately to the stage and look around with a haughty glare, but my legs have turned to jello and I'm laughing and crying in to Tarpon's arm. At the same time, a groan goes up around the crowd as they realize that I will not refuse the position. I'm in the Games.

Tarpon nudges me. "You're up, Aurora. I take a deep breath. I can still be composed. I look in to his eyes, sparkling with pride and some other emotion that I can't read. Then I walk towards the stage. I shout towards the escort, "I accept!" and those girls who have not yet given up sigh. Some begin to cry. But I walk proud.

The escort turns to the boy's bowl. I know that me and Tarpon won't be in together. I told him to refuse the spot if I got in, and he agreed. I don't really watch the boy's reaping until the escort yells, "Eric Boston!"

Eric is a short kid with only three fingers on his right hand. I can hear his dad yelling in the background, but Eric calmly ignores him. "I decline," he shouts. His father gives a shout of rage, but there's nothing he can do now. Before the words even really come out of Eric's mouth, almost every boy around is jumping up and down and screaming. Somewhere in the middle, I pinpoint Goby whooping and waving his arms like a maniac. Luckily, though, the escort is looking elsewhere.

She calls up a boy known as Aster Hawkeye, and for a moment, I am afraid. Aster is easily the biggest kid in the District, and there's an ongoing joke that he has the intelligence of a potato but the strength of a rhino. It's true, but the strength is the problem here. When we shake hands, I think I've lost circulation in my fingers.

As we walk down in to the Justice Building, I look one last time at Tarpon, and I know that he'll be the first to greet me inside.

Sure enough, as I get in to a white room, he bursts in and gives me an enormous hug. "I'm so proud of you, Aurora. He looks up at me as he presses something in to my hands. "There's your birthday present. Can you use it as your token?"

"Of course."

He looks at me, staring intently in to my eyes. "Look, Aurora. I have total faith in you... But promise me... You'll be alright, won't you?"

I swat him playfully. "Silly. Of course I'll be fine. I'll win for us-" At that moment, the rest of my family walk in. My mother is there, hugging me and crying, and so is my father. He hands me a box, and tells me not to open it until later. Goby stays at arm's length.

"You're so lucky. You're gonna win, right?"

That's the question, repeated over and over again.

Every time, I answer yes. And every time, I know it to be the truth. I'll win. As my family leaves, I look at what Tarpon has pushed in to my hands. It's a delicately made strawberry on a fine silky string. As I look at it, it takes me back to when we first met.

And it even smells like him.

Tarpon always smells a bit like strawberries.

I run towards him and begin to cry.

**Yes, that is the SAME District 1 Reaping. Sorry for the long wait, and I'll try to update quicker next time.**


	5. I Think It's a Wig

**Wow. "I'll try to update quickly next time." Look, I know I'm bad at this. But from now on, I'll update every friday, and I'll upload all of the chapters I have right here, right now, today. Here's Storm Alvarez from Dis. 2.**

Storm Alvarez, District 2

The morning's been hectic. I've been dressed, undressed, redressed, re-undressed, scoured thoroughly, and re-redressed. Now here I am, in my finest clothes, while my father screams at me for not training. So what if I don't train? I know I can win, hands down. Besides, surely he doesn't expect me train in a tuxedo.

I examine my sleeves. They come with ancient fancy cuff links, which probably cost a fortune. I hate tuxedos, and these cuff links. They're way to fancy for me. I tug at them, but I'm rudely interrupted by a light blow from my father.

"Are you even listening, Storm? I told you to go get your mother and sister." I sigh and roll my eyes.

"Sorry, Dad. I have to go and help get Franco's brothers ready. I already promised." He starts to argue, but I've already made an escape. Now I have to ditch the tux.

I round the corner at the end of the block and run to Franco's house. I open the back door without knocking and sneak up the stairs to Franco's room. I'm almost there when a practice spear flies in front of me. I jerk back.

"So, I see you'd certainly win the Games, O champion. You call that sneaking? Nice tux, by the way." I turn around and see the heavily freckled face of Franco peering out from his brother's room, with his younger twin siblings perched on his shoulders. He quickly deposits the boys when I leap at them, and dodges my swings with obvious ease. Finally, I pin him against the wall. He blows his curly hair out of his face and groans at me.

"Now you've messed up your tux, man. I'm gonna have to get you something to wear, aren't I?" I grin.

"That's why I came."

He ducks out of my hold and enters his room, me trailing after. He digs around in his closet and tosses me some clothes. I examine them. Black pants, a black shirt.

"You know me way too well, Franco. It's creepy." I throw one of his many books at his back, and he catches it without turning. If he entered the Games, he could win easily. He's never wanted to, though. He loves his brothers too much, and he dislikes bloodshed. It makes him different from most of the people in the District. He got reaped when he was fourteen, but he turned it down without a second thought.

He turns around and grins at me. "So, how's Violet?" I throw another book at him. He catches it. "Yo, stop chucking books at me, 'kay?" I snort.

"As if." I finish getting dressed and muss up my dark hair, glancing in the mirror over Franco's shoulder. Maybe I'll see Violet at the Reaping. I consider myself handsome, and a lot of girls like me. The only one I've ever been interested in is Violet, though.

Franco pounces on me and musses up my hair. "Focus, Storm. How're you gonna win the Games if you don't?" He turns toward the door and shouts, "Now!" His little brothers burst in, screaming like banshees. They're all three identical, them and Franco. Well, Franco's about ten years older. But other then that, the resemblance is shocking.

I don't have much time to elaborate on my thoughts, because they jump on me and start tickling me. They're acrobats, like Franco, and they find much better purchase on my broad shoulders than they do on Franco's. I laugh and balance them on my shoulders. My hair is messed up again.

Franco walks to the door. "Come on. We're gonna be late for the reaping."

"Right after you, Frank."

"Don't call me that, Stormy." My mother's pet name for me. I aim a kick at him, and he dodges easily. He puts one of the twins on his shoulder (I can't tell which one) and we walk out of the house. His mother is helping set up for the reaping, and so we're in charge of bringing the twins.

When we arrive in the square, we hand the twins to Franco's mother, then we head to the 17-year-olds. By now, most of the others have arrived. I see my little sister, Free, standing with my mom and the baby, Alphonse, in the back. I duck a little so she can't see me. I'll get in trouble if she sees I've changed clothes.

When the escort comes out, the first thing I notice is her iridescent green hair. It was purple last year, I think. And it was much shorter. Come to think of it, it also wasn't so crooked... I nudge Franco.

"Hey, Franco." I keep my voice low. "I think it's a wig."

He's distracted. "What is?"

"Her hair."

"Whose hair?"

"The escort, you dolt!"

"Don't yell."

We're shushed by someone behind us. I'd long ago lost track of what the Escort was saying, but she's now rolling out the glass balls. She reaches in. The entire crowd is now silent, but I can't really focus. Her wig is sliding down the side of her head slowly, and my eyes keep flashing to it. Before I know it, some girl has been reaped. I don't really know her, she's from the poorer side of Two. Willow Starter, or something.

Franco nudges me. "You're right. It's definitely a wig."

He's shushed by a boy behind us. I pound Franco's arm.

"It has to be me. It has to be me." Franco half-winks at me.

"Don't worry. Just make sure to yell and scream and jump around an awful lot."

"Shut up!" It's the boy behind us. I fix my attention up at front. The escort fishes around in the bowl for a ridiculously long amount of time before pulling out a strip of paper.

"Igor Malko!" Immediately, I look around. The reaped child is a twelve-year-old in front. As soon as I see his scrawny figure, I raise myself taller. I'm taller than almost everybody else, and bulkier too. Surely she'll see me. As soon as Igor Malko nervously shakes his head, my hand is in the air. The escort is turned toward us, she's looking toward me, surely she's seen me. I watch as she raises a finger and points toward me.

"You with the blonde hair." Her voice sounds funny to me. She must have gotten it wrong. Maybe the sun was in her eyes. Because I have dark hair, not blonde.

But it starts to sink in when the irritating boy behind us who was shushing us the entire time smirks and pushes past me. As if in a dream, I see his blonde hair. I'm not going to stand for it, though. My dad pressured me since I was twelve to volunteer. He was a victor himself. He wants more glory to our family. But only now have I felt ready to go in to the Games. Before I can really think about what I'm doing, my fist is flying at his face.

He takes it in the cheek and doubles over with pain. With a raw yell, he swings back. He's strong, but not as strong as me. Within seconds, he's lying on the ground. Franco, to my side, says nothing. He knows my personality around my family and close friends, but he also knows that outside, I wear a mask of strength and coldness. I'm considered the guy that nobody messes with, and I have no inclination to ruin that reputation.

I turn toward the stage and the surrounding Peacekeepers, some with half-drawn guns.

"I'll be the tribute representing District Two this year, thank you."

On the stage, the escort looks a bit frightened. "I- I'm sure there is a better procedure than this... it isn't... protocol..." her arguments die on her toungue under my glare. "W-well then, I'm sure you'd be just as good as him for these Games. Would someone please take care of the boy?"

A pair of peacekeepers march in and take the unconcious blonde away. Meanwhile, I walk up to the stage. I notice with faint amusement that the escort attempts to keep a distance of at least five feet from me. I shake hands with the Willow girl, then stare out at the crowd. In the back, I can see my family. My dad looks on with an expression close to approval, but my mother has a hand over her mouth. I pretend not to see as I turn in to the Justice Building.

Upstairs, my family comes in first. Free leaps at me, squealing with joy. I pick her up and give her a hug. When I look up at the rest of my family, my mother is crying.

I don't know what to do. My parents never cry. They're strong. So why is she crying now? I feel indescribably awkward, so I just look away.

My dad thumps me powerfully on the back. "I knew you could do it, Storm! You're going to win these games, I know it. You have the skills." He hands me little Alphonse. The baby waves a hand at me, and I tickle him. He gives a baby squeal, and drool drips down his face. I'm in the process of wiping it up when the Peacekeepers enter.

"Time's up." I give Alphonse back to Dad and I give Free a parting hug. Then they're swept away, and the last I see of my family are mother's tear-filled eyes.

Next comes Franco. He gives a toothy grin. "Nice job, Stormy." I punch him playfully. He sits down next to me. "I know you're gonna win. You're going to have too, also. You promised you'd take the twins to the Capitol, remember?"

I laugh. "Oh, yeah. When I come home as Victor, I'll make sure to bring you something nice from the Capitol. A kitten or a doll." He shoves me playfully.

"They have WAY cooler stuff in the Capitol. When you come home, you'd better bring me some awesome piece of technology." He leans closer and whispers in my ear, "Ah, and a certain someone told me to wish you luck." He grins. "It was Violet."

"Really?" I try to keep my voice disinterested, but inside, my heart is leaping.

"Yes, she did. And she said that she wanted to come herself, but she had to go home with her father."

"Seriously?"

He smiles. "Are you just going to ask the same question over and over again, Stormy?"

"No, I'm too busy having my mind blown."

"Yeah, I could tell by the way you almost grew wings and fluttered out the window when I said it."

We both laugh. Then he says, "I ran in to the escort on the way out."

I look at him. "So what?"

"Well, she was holding what looked like a green porcupine and was busy tying up her real hair. It was kind of dim in the hallway, and so I realized that her wig glowed in the dark."

"Glow-in-the-dark hair? Must be the latest fashion in the Capitol."

"I know, that's what I want you to bring me when you get home. Glow-in-the-dark hair dye."

"Yeah, it'd go great with your freckles."

We both cackle. Just then, the Peacekeeper re-enters. "Time to go, kid." I give Franco a hug.

"See you after the Games."

"I'll be watching you on TV. You're famous now, Stormy."

And the door shuts with Franco's words still hanging in the air, but all I can think of, for some reason, are violets.


	6. If I'd Found the Courage

**This is the District 3 Reapings. I don't like this chapter much, I lacked inspiration for it. I may still go back to it and fix it.**

Rena Brody, District 3  
Most people forget that District Three isn't considered a Career District. We're a lower District, and we make stuff that's important to the Capitol. It doesn't matter. We're still skinny. We're still poor. Look, count my ribs. And, unlike in the Career Districts, none of us want to be Reaped.  
I learned how to make technology when I was young. I never really got good at it. I'm better at cooking and housework, and I could take care of a family if I needed to. Unfortunately, there's not much of a market for that here in Three. We make technology, we fix televisions. We don't cook. My mother said that she's glad I learned these skills, but I can see in her eyes that she doesn't really have much hope for me. Even she has skill with the stuff we do.  
Every day I walk to the factory where I work. Day in, day out. Except for today. Reaping day. My brother, Paolo, is considered old enough to work here. He doesn't, though. He also rarely goes to school. All he does is take care of my youngest brother, Heracles. But some day, he'll be forced to work too, and so will Heracles once he turns ten. I can't even think about that.  
I can see him now, across the crowd at the town square. I'm standing near the aisle, and as I look back, and can see Heracles and Paolo. They're holding hands, and Paolo is frightened, you can see that in his face. Not for him, but for me.  
I focus on the stage where the escort is standing. There she is, a ridiculous smile on her face as she fortells the doom of two of us. I could say that there's a high chance that I'll be reaped, that I have many, many slips in, but the reality of it all is that I'm not the only one. More than half of the children standing around me have it just as bad, or worse.  
The escort is reaching in to the bowl. Fortelling doom. As the escorts do. She calls the girls first, as they always do. As she grabs around for a scrap of paper, for some reason, I feel no fear. No tension. Just cold, blank, nothingness. And that feeling stays as the escort calls my name. I don't move, for a moment. Nobody moves. And then I hear the snicker, just behind me. It's then that the tears come. She's a girl in my class. And I'm not surprised.  
They always tease me. They call me stupid, ugly, useless. Never to my face, they're far too cowardly. But I hear it, in the hallway, whispered in a classroom, spoken when they thought I wasn't listening. It's this that forces my legs to move. I stumble out in to the aisle and wander slowly to the stage, tears running down my face. I never wanted to cry. If I were reaped, I wanted to seem strong and proud. I wanted to prove to those girls in my class that I'm stronger then them, somehow. Instead, here I am. Crying like a baby. And walking to my death.  
The escort gives a foul simper when I reach the stage. "Why are you crying, young lady? You have just been awarded an incredible honor. Chin up." She turns away before I have a chance to answer. I look at the floor, with blurry eyes, as she calls up the male tribute. I don't even know who he is until I have to shake his hand.  
"District Three, please welcome our two tributes this year, Rena Brody and Wilbert Greyburn!"  
Somehow, I remember his name, but it doesn't really click. I don't know who he is. And I'm not sure I care. As we're led in to the Justice building, I find myself wishing I could have faced down those girls, just once.


	7. Storm Clouds in the Sky

Kairi Pesce, District 4.  
I really hate Reaping Days. I do. Most of the people in my District, being Careers, are always excited. Not me, though. I've never been one for crowds. It's times like now, standing ankle-deep in water with a fishing spear in hand, watching the sun make shining speckles on the water, that I really feel comfortable. I don't like getting dressed either. Therefore, Reaping Days, when I have to dress fancy and stand among hundreds of hyperactive people, are the worst time of the year.  
There's a flash in the water. The fish have gotten used to me standing here, and they just think that I'm part of the scenery. I wish people could do that, just think of me in the background. I've never liked attention. The fish don't either, and they don't care to give me any.  
Very slowly, I turn my body. There's a fish by my ankles, drifting lazily. I position my spear so I don't stab my foot, and plunge the spear in to the water, just below where the fish should be. I can feel the impact of my spear in the fish's side. A perfect hit.  
When I was younger, I never understood that you had to aim slightly away from the fish, because of the refraction in the water. I have to wonder who figured that out. If they hadn't, would we have food on the table every night?  
I pull the silvery body from the water. It's kind of small, but it can always be pet food. That's part of my family's industry. We don't need much, as my mom's a victor, but my dad has always wanted to be sure we had money in reserve.  
The fish around my feet scatter as I move my legs and return to the shore. There, I sit down. My legs are stiff for standing for so long. By our family's standards, that was wasted time. I could have caught many more in that hour or so. Today, though, I'm really just fishing for sport.  
By now, the fish impaled on my spear has stopped thrashing, and is now only opening and closing it's mouth slowly. I look at it closely.  
"Tell me, do you fish ever want to be humans?" My question goes unanswered, and I pull it off the spear. It gives a spasmodic thrash, and then dies in my hand, still gulping for air. I drop it there, on the sand, and return to my house.

* * *

Back at my house, I take a quick shower. When I step out, I find my mom has laid out a new outfit. I outgrew my old one. When I put it on, I realize it's very dark. It's a short black dress, along with black heeled ankle boots. Except for the stylish design, I could be going to a funeral. Running a comb through my hair, I decide I don't look too bad. I have large eyes, and red hair, and this makes me look both young and colorful. My eyes are brown, though. I've never really gotten over that. My parents both have the typical sea-green eyes of the District, where mine are brown. Just when I want to blend in, I stand out. Strangely enough, if I were in a different District, I'd look normal.  
I flounce down the stairs, wobbling a little in the heels. My mom is in the living room, putting on shoes.  
"Kairi, darling, you look wonderful. Just on time too, it's almost time for the Reapings! Your father is out with a friend, he'll be here in a moment. Are you ready?"  
I nod. She gives me a hug, and I halfheartedly hug her back. Then, she just talks, and I pretend to listen, until my father arrives. He smiles at me. "You look lovely, Kairi. Let's go, huh?" Together, we walk out of the door.  
When we arrive, I walk straight to my spot. I stare straight ahead until the mayor comes out. I can hear everyone around me fidgeting, and occasionally whispering, and I shift my gaze to the packed dirt below. I dig my toe in to it until I manage to excavate a small hole. With a swipe of my boot, it's filled up. By then, a cheer has gone up from the crowd. The glass balls have been wheeled out. The fidgeting quiets immediately. The escort prances erratically around the stage, prolonging the moment for as long as he can. Then, with much pomp and ceremony, he reaches in and sifts the pile around several times, finally removing a slip of paper.  
When he reads it, he ridiculously mispronounces my name. Ten options run through my head at once. I'm not surprised that my name has been drawn, nor frightened. But do I want to go? If I refused, everyone in the District would fight for the title. Someone who knew they wanted to go could go. On the other hand, I know my mother has always secretly wished for me to go. She's never voiced it, but it's in her actions. And all that's what's special about us Careers. We have a choice.  
The escort calls my name again, this time hitting closer to the mark as far as pronunciation. I make a split-second decision, and carefully extricate myself from the crowd of disappointed girls. As I climb the wooden stage, my boots make hollow clacking sounds. The escort praises me enthusiastically, but I'm ignoring him. I'm mostly trying not to look at any specific person in the crowd. For that reason, I completely miss the boy's Reapings. It's only when the crowd is roaring for the reaped tribute that I look up. Within moments, he's right in front of me, hand held out. I shake it, trying to remember his name the whole time. I remember him from school, but I'm not sure of his name.  
When we're finally allowed in to the justice building, I'm relieved to be away from all of the upturned faces. In my private room, I sit down and close my eyes. I snap them open a few moments later, though, as my family walks in. I am alert completely and instantly. My dad has his face turned down, but I can see that his eyes are moist. Has he been.. crying?  
When he looks up at me, though, any signs that he has have vanished. Both of my parents are exclaiming their pride to me, but it only means anything when Dad holds my shoulders in his large hands and looks me in the eyes.  
"You be safe, okay, Kairi? You have to promise me that you'll survive. Okay? Make Daddy proud."  
For no explicable reason, I feel a lump in my throat.  
"Yeah, Dad. I promise."  
He hugs me. "I'm glad. Are you wearing the necklace?" I nod and show him the shark tooth on my neck. I'll use it as a token. My dad looks like he'll say something else, but then the guard pokes his head in.  
"Time's up." My parents both hug me one last time, then walk out. I'm left alone by the shiny window, fingering the tooth. In the corner of the blue sky, grey storm clouds have begun to form.


	8. Nobody Cares in District 5

**I really like this chapter. It's my favorite, probably.**

Cedar Genagil, District 5  
I really hate the walk from my house to the main square. If you stand in the square and look down the street, you can see the houses steadily deteriorating. First, there's the shabby shops that line the square. The bakers, the hardware store, the grocer, the bookstore. Then, you round the corner to the road, and you see the cracked pavement, and the closed coffee shop. Then, rows of houses. At first, they're kind of nice. Then they get shabbier. Then there's the morgue.  
Eurgh.  
It's full of nasty memories, that. Shattered glass in the middle of the night, seeing my brother's emaciated body as he crawls around the morgue in the stark moonlight. We looked less skinny in the daylight. The shadows weren't as hard.  
I remember when we had to sneak in at the dead of night, looking around for something to steal. Then, when we couldn't find anything, we found the bodies.  
Whenever we pass the morgue, I always quicken my pace. I don't want to remember me and my brother, trying to avoid eating our sibling's food, and looking for other sustenance. And how we couldn't find it anywhere, except for the morgue.  
That stuff CHANGES you. It's one thing eating the chicken brought to the table, and another thing eating the flesh of a human that lived in the same town as you. You never forget it. However much you want to. Hunger changes you, too. After you cross that line, you look everywhere for food, even if you don't need it so much anymore. It's because of that hunger, and because of that morgue, that makes me look at other human beings as a prospective meal.  
And I never wanted that feeling, but it's here anyways.  
I walk on.

* * *

Further down the street, past the dark morgue, we've reached the slums. Turn a corner, on the left, and there's my street. Dilapidated buildings. Overgrown weeds. The scent of smog in the air.  
All of the buildings are around three stories, but that is not a luxury, by any means. A luxury is having one family on a floor. In my tenement, it's one family per room.  
It's at the end of the street, looking tired and dusty. The shops in the square are fancy, compared to the shops here. These shops are the ones I grew up with, and the only ones I could afford. Most of them are closed, now, what with it being the day of the reaping. Some of them were already closed, and will never open. You need money to run a store, which nobody has here.  
District Five is the largest District. So many people. There's just not enough food, or money, or space. Also, that means that no one cares if you starve or die. There are other, more important people.  
I climb the broken steps with many a creak. My family is on the second floor, so I have to squeak up the steps. When I get to the top, I knock on the door to my family's home. Locks are for rich people.  
My little sister opens the door a crack, and seeing it's me, opens the door. Spread around the room is my family. My mother, my father. My siblings. Except not my older brother.  
I go to the corner where we sleep. It's dark. Our only light bulb hangs from the ceiling above the rickety folding table, and there are no windows. All around, there is a few layers of ashes, leaves, dirt, dust, and accumulated insect corpses. I tried eating one once. It tasted too dusty.  
I brush some of the accumulated substance off of my button-down shirt. It used to be white, now it's grey, and too small for me. I button it over my baggy shirt. All of my siblings are already dressed up, as well as they can be in their old worn frocks and shirts. My parents are dressed well, too. It's time for the Reapings now, and they were all waiting for me.  
My parents never get a day off. They work at factories for twelve hours a day, every day. It's funny how their only break is the day that has become the darkest hour for the children.  
None of my siblings are in danger now, though.  
Just me.  
None of them could be sentenced to death today.  
When we walk down the street again, I don't look at the morgue.

* * *

The square is how it was earlier this morning. Except now it's full. My siblings go with my parents, and I go with the fourteen-year-olds. They give me a bit of a space around me. I've never talked to anyone, and I've never made friends. Except for one. But when I walk in to the area for the fourteens, he turns away. Just as he has for the past few weeks. Gavin. My best friend.  
That makes me feel sad, and angry. Not long ago, he was the only one I could trust. Now, he's turned away from me. There's no one else for me. I'm alone again.  
When the Escort and Mayor come out, there is silence. I used to listen to what they said, but I've heard it far too many times. It's always the same. So I ceased to listen, like they ceased to care. Everyone here has ceased to care. That's just what happens when you live in District 5.  
When the girl tributes are reaped, though, I pay more attention. Each second, each word, they make my dread grow. I don't care about the girl. I don't even know her name. It's only when she turns to the boys that I care more. I know that I have my name in there an awful lot. It's not even worth it for me some years, though, because there isn't enough Tesserae to go around. Wasted effort.  
We're not the poorest, so there's still a chance. But I know what will happen if I'm reaped.  
I'll die.  
And when the Escort's fat, painted lips mouth my name, I know I'm going to die. It's not just an opinion, it's a deep feeling, in my bones and my heart. I'm going to die. My feet weigh a thousand pounds when I try to move them. Death is natural, sure. That doesn't mean that any part of you wants it. As I walk, the strangest things come to my mind. There are small rocks embedded in the ground. Some person has blue shoes. And, for some reason, that the steps to the stage don't creak. Now, why did I think that?  
Also, I notice that the girl's hand is sweaty when I shake it. I look up, for the first time. Her eyes are dark and terrified. As I watch, they blur a bit. With a shock, I realize that she's crying. And then I feel the burning in my eyes, and I know that I'm starting to cry too.  
The Justice building is a relief from all the burning stares.  
It's not really better, though. I forgot that the family visits. And that makes it so much worse. It goes by in a blur. I know that I should be focusing on it. It could be the last time I see them. The last time. But it's my mother's comment, at the beginning, that ruins it all. That's the only part I remember in perfect clarity.  
"No. Not like your brother."  
That's right. I can't die like my brother.  
But I don't want to remember that. And so that's the only part I remember when they leave. And I wasn't expecting any other visitors. But there is one. Kind of. When I go to the door, I hear a voice, the voice of the one person that I really want to see.  
"I've changed my mind."  
It's Gavin. I open the door before I can think, and I'm face to face with him. He's crying. He looks shocked to see me. With tears in his eyes, he takes a step back. Then he comes forward and gives me a hug. There's a whisper in my ear that stirs my hair.  
"I'm sorry."  
Then he's gone. I'm sent back to my room. No one else comes.  
Because nobody cares in District 5.


	9. There's Too Much Noise

**I am going to apologize in advance for the terrible writing. This is one of the chapters that I told myself I needed to rewrite over and over again, but I just never got to it. I probably will, don't worry.**

Jaquemontia "Jackie" Bindweed, District 6  
District Six is interesting. There are four or five clumps of city, interspersed with trees and barren wasteland. The trees are all kind of shriveled. There's a lot of smog here. The people are kind of withered too.  
Like I said, District Six is interesting.  
I don't really like the city. I prefer to wander in the wasteland. Nobody bothers me about that. I think they're kind of glad. I suppose that's my fault. I've never been what one would call friendly. There's just something about me that repels them. So I wander.  
Unfortunately, I have to live in the city. I go to school there, and the Reapings are there. Like today. The Reapings. Nobody wants to go, least of all me. I have to go to the heart of the city, and stand for hours. That's another thing about me. I don't like standing. That's not to say I'm lazy. I just prefer walking. It's something about staying in the same place. I've always been a wanderer.  
Nobody ever asks me about that. I'm the quiet one, the one who nobody will talk to, or is afraid of. That's okay, though. I prefer to be alone. Which is why I hate the Reapings. Standing around, for hours, among hundreds of people whom I don't wish to talk too. That's essentially what the Reapings are.  
I kind of like being alone. People bother me. They make an awful lot of noise. Everyone makes a lot of noise. To me, silence is so much prettier to my ears. That's what's always set me apart. Even from my mother.  
I just don't get family relations. What makes my father and mother so much more important to me than my friends? I don't know. And I don't feel it. She's always kept her distance because she must know that I don't feel any love for her. I don't feel any love for anyone, at least not anymore.  
So, on the day of the Reapings, I get up by myself, and I feed myself breakfast. Then, I go out in to the wasteland. By myself. Eventually, I go back. She's not there. I dress myself in my finest clothes and comb my hair. I think, when I was younger, she used to braid it for me. Now I almost never see her.  
I go to the square by myself.  
I'm cordoned off. Fifteen-year-old females. We're close-packed. Even so, no one looks at me. No one talks to me. And that's okay. I don't want to talk to them, really. I know them, though. I tried not to learn about them. I said I didn't care. Somehow, though, it got to me. There they are, the girls I grew up with. Susan, two ahead and one to the left. Her dad is dead. She has five cats. Jace. Right next to me. She's the top student in my class. Ria, directly behind me. Her little brother is supposedly a genius. Yami, who's sister died in the Games three years ago. I told them that I didn't care when I met them. I know about them anyways, though.  
I know about the Mayor, too, and the escort, and the judge, and the fat candy store man, and the mailman. And the kids on my street and the teachers at my school. I say I don't care, but as I don't generally talk, I listen. And I know all about them.  
The mayor is out in his crisp uniform. He's fairly rich, as mayors go, and buys a new suit every year for the Games. Today, it's pinstripes. He's reading the Treaty of Treason. His double chin is wobbling. I don't need to listen to him. He says the same thing every year, and I've memorized it. He doesn't care, either. As soon as the reaping is over, he always goes to the bar near the square and nearly kills himself with alcohol.  
Our escort is notorious among the townsfolk. He's scarily tall, taller than anyone I've met. He only ever dresses in black, with long wavy hair in a dark reddish color. He's super pale, and he has the sort of face that gives children nightmares. People around town always say that the reason that District 6 is afraid to get reaped is because then they'd have to shake hands with him.  
Someone rolls out the glass balls. He grins widely, and I'm sure that several kids whimper behind me. His teeth are embedded with some sort of red gemstone, as if his visage wasn't creepy enough.  
There's something different about our escort. He always reaps the boys first. Whenever the girls are reaped, he grins at them in that way that makes you want to run and hide with many layers of thick clothing on and with a knife in hand. He clears his throat and reaches in to the boy's ball. When he speaks, his voice is high and catty.  
"Our boy tribute is Akecheta Sturgeon!" A tall, muscled boy walks quietly out from somewhere behind me. He moves smoothly and silently, surprising for someone of his size. He shows no emotion, simply glares at those who dare to look at them. He climbs the stage and stands stiffly behind the leering escort.  
With another horrendous facial expression, he reaches in to the girl's ball. I look around. Will it be someone I know? Will I care if it is?  
The escort mispronounces my name so horribly that I'm not even sure it's me at first. When he reads it the second time, it's more clear, and I'm sure that there's no one with a name even remotely like mine. I move like a robot, i'm sure, when I go to the stage. I hadn't even considered, in all of my time, that it would be me. I'm fairly high class. I only have my name in there a few times. I hadn't even considered the possibility that it could be me.  
The terrifying look on the escort's face almost makes me want to turn back. I don't, though, and stand next to the boy tribute. When we shake hands, his hand is warm, with a firm grip that almost breaks my fingers.  
I'm happy to enter the justice building. It gets me away from all the stares.  
I get a private room. This is when my family is supposed to come visit me. I'm not entirely sure what to say when my parents come. I've never shown them much affection. What could I say? I don't care. That's what I keep telling myself.  
But no one comes up. I don't get a single knock on my door. The only one who comes is the guard telling me it's time to go. My eyes start burning when I realize that no one is coming. When I reach a private place, I finally begin to cry. I've told my self that I don't care about others. But the reality is that when I'm faced with death, not even my own mother cares.


	10. But I'm Invincible, Right?

Benson Dryle, District 7  
We have a day off of school for the Reapings. So what do I do? Schoolwork. Close enough, anyways. On my desk sits a piece of lined paper, already half covered in my neat handwriting. I'm eighteen. The slips are cumulative. As I've never applied for tesserae, the number of slips that I have in the bowl is twenty-one. There are five hundred and twenty-seven boys in the district who are of age. Approximately 35% have applied for tesserae at least three times. As such, twenty-one slips are lost among the thousands of slips in that bowl. Of course, the chance of being reaped randomly is always there.  
No matter how I calculate it, I have a low chance of being reaped, but it's not impossible. Does it matter, though? In the end, whether I'm reaped or not, I can't do anything to change it, can I?  
I shake my head. That's going in to philosophy, an area I generally stay away from. Sighing, I put my feet on my desk and lean back in my chair. I close my eyes and tilt my head back. Within moments, though, I open my eyes again, glancing at my clock. It's nearly time to go. I stand up, tucking in my shirt and straightening my tie. I take a quick glance in to the mirror, then step in to the kitchen.  
"Mother, Father, come on. We don't want to be late."  
My mother and father come down the stairs. My mom quickly appraises my attire, then nods. "Okay, Benson. " Her voice is cool and polite, carefully detached. She likely doesn't want me to yell at her again. I wish she understood, though, that I only ever yelled at her because I didn't want her to yell at me.  
I walk out of the door. Today, I'm invincible. No matter what happens, I will show my power and authority. Because no one else can.  
District 7 is deep in a piney forest. It's very thick, and it took ages for the citizens of 7 to clear out a place for the town. Even now, we're still expanding. It's not a bad industry. I make us money by working to cut down the trees and exporting wood, while at the same time we can make our town bigger.  
I hear a rumbling under my feet, and the rocks rattle on the hard-worn dirt path. There are so many trees here that the train station is underground, at least until you get out of the District. I've always been fascinated about how the trains work. The only way to get to see them, though, would be to be reaped. And I'm strong, I know, I just don't know if I'm strong enough to win the Games. Sure, I can climb trees, and work an axe, and I know how to survive, but against the Careers, I'm just not sure it's really enough.  
I think back to the calculations on the paper still on my desk. I have a low chance of being reaped. I'm probably okay.  
In the square, I walk up to my section. There, I am met with a range of emotions. Some of the boys turn away. Some of them nervously pretend not to notice me. Some smile as if they are my friends. Some others glare at me. I look over them all at the stage. The escort has stepped out. It's not the same one as last year. Quickly, I look down and sketch a diagram in the dust. The escort has been different every year. That's not normal for most districts, I think.  
The escort is now pulling out the reaping balls. I notice that there are more girl slips than boys slips. Does that affect my calculations? No, the girls are reaped separately from the boys.  
The escort reaches in to the bowl. She shuffles the slips around, then yanks out one at random.  
"June Aspen!" A small girl up front gives a terrified squeak. She steps slowly up to the stage. The escort purses her thick lips and then plunges her hand in to the boy's ball.  
"Benson Dryle!" At that moment, almost every cell in my body is screaming for me to give some reaction, some emotion. But I don't. I walk out of the crowd and on to the stage. I shake hands with June. And I smile for the crowd. Today, I'm not going to worry about how I'll survive in an arena packed with killers. I'm going to put on my brave face and pretend to be the boy that everyone is afraid of, with his cool, commanding attitude and unchanging face. Because today I'm invincible, right?  
Somewhere deep inside of me, I want to cry. I'm invincible, right?  
Wrong.

**Okay, that's the last chapter I'm going to upload for tonight. However, I do have an important announcement, and that is that I lost the list of who submitted which tribute. So if you still follow this story, please send me a message with the tribute you submitted. I'll make sure to update before Friday, and I'll reply to any reviews later tonight.**


End file.
